


mayakovsky

by symposiums



Category: Jem and the Holograms
Genre: Derealization, Experimental Style, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symposiums/pseuds/symposiums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i mean, what do i? and if i do,<br/>perhaps i am myself again.<br/>— mayakovsky, frank o'hara</p>
            </blockquote>





	mayakovsky

There are times where she's taken aback by the image she sees in the mirror. The pink hair, the heavy eye makeup, the curl of a smile — everything Jem is. 

But isn't that Jerrica too?  

—Isn't that _me_ , she questions herself.

Is it?

 

* * *

 

_She's a holographic dream; clean and pristine._

The words are scribbled on the side of a napkin in a handwriting she's seen for fifteen years of her life. It's Kimber's note, scrawled in a haste upon being slammed in the face with inspiration. Jerrica holds the thin paper between two fingers, analyzing every part of it. The curve of the letters, the intensity of how it was written, and the words themselves. She questions if they're lyrics, but why would Kimber be writing a song about _this_? About _Jem_?

"Kimber, what is this?" she asks during rehearsal one day while enveloped in the safety of a hologram.

"Huh? Oh! That! Um…" There's a pause of contemplation, one Jerrica easily recognizes: Kimber's trying to find a way to not put her foot in her mouth and that alone leaves her feeling a little irritated. Her thumb and pointer finger grip onto the edge of the napkin, silently threatening to tear it if Kimber tries to snatch it away from her.

"It's just… something I wrote."

"About me?"

"No! Well… _yeah_ , but not about _you,_ Jerrica. It's about Jem!"

"But I _am_ Jem."

Aja tunes her bass, keeping her ears attuned toward the conversation. She's seen this many times before: the two sisters raising their hackles in a means of self-protection. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Kimber's face fold into a look of concentration as if to say _'everyone's a critic — even my own sister.'_

"I know that, but it was just—"

"Forget about it," Jerrica sighs, pressing the palm of her hand to her brow. "Let's just get on with this rehearsal."

"But _Jerrica_!"

"Jem," she reminds her bandmate. The bandmate that's Jerrica's sister, but not _hers_. 

The keyboardist glowers, reaching over to rip the napkin from Jem's hand.

 

* * *

 

_"Jem is the fascination of those who wish to have no responsibilities; she is a present wrapped up in a bow of glamor, fame, and beauty. She is unattainable, she is unreal, and yet she is everywhere. Magazine stands, billboards, on the face of advertisements, Jem is plastered everywhere we look. She is a part of our lives wether we want it or not._

_Computer generated, marketed. If we don't know who she truly is, does that make her real?"_

She listens as a radio presenter (one she's not at all familiar with) questions the reality of the very person she is. Of course she's real, she tells herself while tending to the final papers of the night. Reports, payroll, all the things that come with the responsibility of running a music company. She's me.

A small voice in the back of her head asks _"Is she?"_ and Jerrica wonders if that's her own conscious speaking or Jem's.

 

* * *

 

"Who are you?" Rio asks. Jem feels talons run across every bone and notch of her spine, pooling upward into the nape of her neck. The compromise of her identity makes things difficult. 

The compromise of her identity erases her.

She can't help but to react in fear. 

"What do you mean? You know who I am!" 

"No," she can recognize the irritation in his tone. The exhaustion of this same repetitive conversation washes over her. Why can't she just be Jem? Why does _Jerrica_ have to be involved? "I don't. And frankly, I don't think you do either."

"What…?" Something shifts in the conversation. It's not the line about liars, it's not the simulation that is eerily close to the reality. Her head feels light, as if she's in some sort of nightmare.

She reaches to touch her arm, just to make sure she's real. Her own fingers feel foreign against the skin of her forearm. "Rio, what do you mean?"

"Who are you, Jem?"

"Rio," she pleads, hoping he will understand. "It's _me_! Je —"

Jem? Jerrica? Does Jem really exist when she's not Jerrica? Or is it Jerrica who fades into nothingness the minute Jem takes the stage? Jem's a hologram; she's an image projected by a machine, but she's still human. Jerrica is there within her.

Rio waits for the response he already knows he's going to get. His eyes bore straight into hers as she searches for her own answer to the question. The world plunges into dread with the spotlight of reality looking down upon her, waiting for her to be judged.

The creeping tension in the air says enough. He turns toward the door, forcing her to stare at his back and not the muscles of his face as he speaks.

"When you get it figured out, I'd like to know."

 

* * *

 

It's a hot Sunday afternoon. Jerrica can feel the sweat on her neck as she watches her reflection in the store window. The sun gleams, reflecting on the window like chrome. In the corner of the window there's an advertisement about Jem, but she ignores it.

She's learned to after awhile.

Mannequins are pulled into positions they can never escape from. There's a large read sale sign above them, thick black numbers written like binary codes.

  _A pretty package wrapped up in a bow of glamor…_

 "Jerrica?" a familiar scratchy voice causes her to detract her thoughts. "Is that you?"

 Her eyes burn from the bright yellow globe bored into the window. Her forehead creases when she turns to look at Stormer. The specks of black and white make it hard for her to see her features. Jerrica wonders if she's speaking to the ghost of Stormer, rather than the actual one.

 "Hey," she says, rather detached before realizing she's been caught in a daydream.  She raises and then lets down her armor all in an instant as her cool professionalism turns into a warm acquaintance. "Sorry, I was a little distracted."

 "Ah, I thought so…" Stormer's red lips press into a smile; it's all she can see clearly in the circle planted firmly in the center of her vision. "That's alright."

 "I feel like I'm always distracted," she laughs, hanging her head low. She watches Stormer stiffen a bit and understands exactly why. Jerrica never comes off as vulnerable. Jerrica is stern, confident… Jerrica comes into Eric's office and tells him off.

 Is Jem ever like this with Stormer? Why can't she find the answer to that?

"Whenever I get distracted, I sorta just… do something else."

There's something about the way Stormer says that that makes Jerrica think she never would have heard this before they became business partners. Is this the real Stormer? Whoever Stormer _is_ behind that stage name? Was she really anyone before Back to Back or was she a façade too? Her mind swirls with questions, but she doesn't know which ones to ask.

"You alright, Jerrica?"

"Yeah." Her tone doesn't sound right, so she says it again. "Yeah. It's just really hot out."

As if on cue, Stormer pushes her hair to one side, so that it drapes over her shoulder. She nods, either out of sympathy or pity. "It makes you feel like you're in a dream…"

 _Am I?_ Jerrica asks, looking back at the store window. Her eyes fall to the picture of Jem with a wide smile, glittering eyes, and an unobtainable presence.

Maybe that's the answer. All this is a dream, a dream she'll wake up from. She'll be thirteen all over again as her mother smiles down at her, brushes away her bangs and feels the clammy warmth of Jerrica's forehead. Her father will be alive, Kimber will be a nuisance, and everything will be back to normal.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she murmurs, not sure if she's talking to the photo of Jem or the reflection of the young blonde woman in the window.

 


End file.
